A-Cold-Wall

Make what you will of the Virgil Abloh effect currently coursing through fashion, but the recently-appointed artistic director of Louis Vuitton menswear is responsible for an injection of fresh energy into this industry – and A-Cold-Wall* is one of the greatest consequences of his success. The British-born founder of A-C-W, Samuel Ross, moved from Leicester to London after getting in touch with Abloh on Instagram, and – with no fashion training – spent three years working remotely as his right hand before setting up his own brand in 2015. Another three years on and, at the age of 27, Ross is an impressive force in his own right: an LVMH finalist with 107 international stockists and, last season alone, £3.5million of menswear orders. Considering the current state of the luxury market, his is a pretty staggering success story.

This season saw a slightly heavy-handed artistic narrative encase what was a brilliantly executed collection. An elevated version of streetwear (although everyone now loathes that term, it is surely the easiest shorthand for techy tracksuits and synthetic separates), the clothes appeared more delicately considered than before, with a more graceful palette and gentler cuts that Ross put down to how deservedly happy he feels at the moment (besides the business success, he’s a new father: his daughter, Genesis, is getting him up at 5 and in bed by 11).

Much of Ross’s work thus far has revolved around his working class roots, and unpacking the stigma that surrounds them: autumn/winter 2018 took scaffolding uniforms as its starting point; this time, the sociological legacy of Brutalism. While it’s very trendy to admire Ballardian architecture, the realities of high-rise housing are far from glamorous (this week marks the one-year anniversary of the Grenfell tragedy) and “that architecture can affect your mindstate,” he explains. “Tension and fear can become your framework… and with this collection, I’m talking about stripping away the effects and repercussions that these concrete blocks leave on people.” That message most explicitly manifested in a performance art piece at the close of the catwalk, which figured a gang of masked models dragging a styrofoam box into the middle of the runway before tearing down its walls to reveal a fetal figure inside. “That cube represents that failed architecture… and when those walls are removed, you finally have the option to make your own choices,” he said.

When it came to the clothes, that new-found sense of freedom manifested in the aforementioned ease: soft and slouchy knitwear, hand-dyed and woven in Italy (its branded patches Velcro-detachable for those turned off by logomania); the relaxed luxury of hybrid track/cargo pants featuring occasionally trailing toggles or (deflatable) bloated pockets; sensitively-handled nylon outerwear; a particularly good trench. There were moments of too-close tribute to designers he admires, but the overarching impact was excellent. “My understanding of garments has definitely improved as I’ve been able to grow my team, so now there’s more of a freedom in the clothes,” Ross explained. “And they’re more about the future, rather than just looking at the consequences of suppression.”

What Ross is proving through his work is that the environments he refers to need not be completely confining; that his version of modern masculinity can be cut on a curve, can incorporate muted pastels and tactile fabrications – and that these sorts of clothes, with his sorts of backstories, belong on a runway as much as anyone else’s. “I’m really in a mode of conquest at the moment,” he smiled. “I’m learning how to manipulate my platform in a positive way to talk about social constructs.” He’s smashing it.